


(Im)passivity

by orphan_account



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Clothing Kink, Control Issues, Cunnilingus, Dry Sex, F/M, Femdom, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Intimacy, Light Dom/sub, NSFW Art, Naked Male Clothed Female, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Trust Issues, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 03:23:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23871571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Tiadrin gets off on watching Lain suffer. Lain whines like a little bitch.Has officially become multi-chapter fic focused on the nuances and milestones in their relationship. Set in no particular order, filled with plenty of smut.Art link in notes.
Relationships: Lain/Tiadrin (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 26





	1. Carmine

**Author's Note:**

> It's 3:07 am. Poor decisions lead to poor decisions. Also am unashamed to say I was inspired by my own art. Here's the link: https://azandcas.tumblr.com/post/616398781325443072/laindrin-art-exchange-with-sufferingsouparts

The moon was bright this night, peeking out from her blanket of stars like a child from their bedside door. She laughed merrily while the stars looked on as cool sentinels, bystanders to her mischief. Unlike their lady, they focused on their purpose — lighting the way for the sylvan occupants of the forest — with a resolute air, both stoic and proud, but whatever could be said about the frolicings of the nighttime regents, they did indeed fulfill their purpose and fulfill it well. The village was bright, and the warm light of fire lamps and magical light respectively tangled together in a pleasant web of luminescence, alighting on rooftops and the canopy of the forest that surrounded them.

From the forest's edge and the eastern side of the village, in which the faces of buildings and houses were turned opposite, two figures flitted, furtive, down the dirt-trodden path that led to the village proper. 

If one were to look closer, which of course the stars did not — they were always respectfully aloof and thus could never be said to gossip — one would see that it was not a... _ peaceful _ stroll between sideways lovers, but rather a jagged start-stop gait that belied the nature of their relationship. The first, though far smaller than her companion, had an iron grip on his wrist, towing him behind her like an unhappy ox.

As they moved along past the bakery and the smithy, whose windows, normally glowing with cheery firelight, had dimmed to blankness in respect to the moon and her guardians, the first could not help but take his try at resisting the force that pulled him along like a windblown streamer. As expected, she did not give an inch. His wife had a grip like an angry shadowpaw.

He decided he would speak, then. If he could not actually _ do  _ anything to stop her, he might at least voice his concern. 

"Where are you taking me?" he said, and then cursed himself for the petulant tone he had taken. Tiadrin  _ hated _ whining, said that if you wanted to complain about things, you might as well shuck off your clothes, sit on the floor, and shit yourself like the child you were.

She did not, of course, dignify him with a response other than to squeeze the bones in his wrist hard enough he thought they'd pop right through the skin and yank him forward with a zeal that made his neck ache from whiplash. 

Point taken.

He didn't have long to wait, however, for when they reached the northern corner and the subsequent living sector, she all but threw him from her person. He stumbled, arms pinwheeling until they found solid structure behind him and slammed — rather painfully — to repose, the rest of him following suit.

Tiadrin lunged, pressing herself against him, his back against the wall — a wall? — hips locking his in place, though the blue fire of her gaze would have accomplished that just fine on its own. She coaxed his leg from the ground with her ankle and wrapped her own around his buttocks. That was — that was impolite to do without asking. He should say something.

"Nowhere in particular," she said, as if it was normal to respond to someone seven minutes after they asked their question, and then again after throwing them against an unnamed building and stripping them of their dignity. She smirked and tightened her grip, leg flexing. "I really just needed something vertical."

Lain, whose thoughts now resembled something like  _ omigodwhatasdfghjk _ , managed to gasp out, "But — we literally walked through a forest."

"Yes, and?" Her hands found his wrists.

"I —  _ trees _ !"

She stopped her motions and looked at him, and he thought  _ ohshit _ because she was scowling in that way that meant she was particularly displeased.

"Trees," she tasted the syllable as if it was a word she was just learning. She leaned in close, her breath warming the flesh beneath his jaw. Their height difference was sorely obvious when placed against each other like this, but Lain felt very small just then.

"So you're telling me you'd rather I fuck you against a  _ tree _ than a wall," she said skeptically. "Do you know what that would do to your back? Also" — She leaned in even closer, nose brushing his chin, and dropped her voice to a scornful hiss. — "do you think I'm dumb enough to take you in the woods when the house is  _ right here _ ?"

Lain was busy watching her lips and did not, in fact, process her words until she smacked him upside the head.

He started. "The what?" 

Tiadrin hauled him from the wall, and he followed, his steps stumbling and markedly more clumsy than they’d been minutes before. She dragged him around the side of the building — and he thought belatedly,  _ That looks familiar. _ — and up the stairs —  _ So we’re just going into someone’s house? Okay, cool. —  _ and then she opened the door and pulled him into their living room.

Oh.

She kicked the door shut with her foot and said sarcastically, “Get it now?”

He laughed sheepishly. “Yeah, okay, that wasn’t my brightest moment —”

She grasped him around the waist and forced him against the door in a sloppy mimicry of his earlier position, only this time they were in their house and he didn’t have to worry about someone finding them and realizing what a sucker he was for his wife, and Tiadrin was pressing against him in a way that was almost as distracting as the cruel twist of her lips.

“So, I’m getting the impression you like this position,” he tried and was rewarded with a breathy laugh against the sensitive flesh of his jaw. 

“You knew that before today,” she said. “Why bring it up?” 

“Just… Why’d we even bother? It’s no different here than there.”

“Yes it is. Now we’re inside.”

“...So?”

"So…" She pressed her lips against his neck. "Inhibition be damned."

And then she was tugging him down by his collar for a brutal kiss, thigh pressing between his, and he could barely keep up with her, muddled as he was. She nipped at his lip, and he emitted a noise somewhere between a moan and a gasp, her teeth pulling painfully at his flesh. When she pulled away, he followed, neck craning down to reach her, but she didn’t let him, pushing his face away with her shoulder. 

“You know I don’t like it when you do things without permission,” she said.

“But you do things without permission all the time,” he complained.

“Yeah,” she said like he was dumb, “‘cause  _ you  _ like it.”

He had no response to that, because saying she was right certainly wouldn’t help his argument. Apparently, she didn’t need one, for she was pulling at the laces of her tunic, disposing of it in a heap on the floor, and then beginning to work on his. He offered no resistance but didn’t try helping her either; he knew she liked to work on her own, especially when it came to bedroom matters.

When she finally worked the fabric from his shoulders, she pulled away just enough that he could let it slide from his shoulders to the floor between them. That done, she wasted no time setting upon him again, mouth insistent and hungry. He returned her ardor as best he could but his neck was beginning to tire from the reach, and his lips were lifting (stupid things) at the fact that there was so much passion hidden within such a small woman. Evidently, she noticed his mirth, for she sank to the floor with a frustrated noise, pulling him down with her. She wormed her way beneath his arms and into his lap, her weight settling pleasantly against certain appreciative parts of him.

“What are you laughing at?” she demanded. 

“Nothing,” he said, watching her mouth.

“Right answer.”

Now at the perfect height to do so, she slanted her lips against his and sucked his tongue into her mouth. He moaned and slid his arms around her waist, mind going dizzy at the slick slide of their lips, the warmth against his chest and groin, and the knowledge that she was probably going to fuck him into the floor. 

She softened her kiss to playful nips and added her teeth. Lain was all for the edge of pain within pleasure — Moonshadow balance and all — and months spent with her told him that Tiadrin was distinctly fond of it (giving it, mostly). Thus, there was nothing particularly odd about the way she bit at him or tugged at his hair. It was all routine foreplay, and rather tame, at that. What he did  _ not  _ anticipate, however, was her tearing her face from his and leaning back on her hands to better angle her hips against his. He did not anticipate her sliding down into his lap and then back up again, nor did he expect her to continue.

“Ah  _ fuck _ , Tiadrin, what —” His hands shot to her hips when she pressed a little harder.

“Do you want me to stop?” She quirked an eyebrow at him, daring him to question her. 

He tried to look sheepish when he shook his head but probably just looked pained. “Usually we do this without clothes,” he managed.

She hummed consideringly. 

“We do,” she said finally, and he was pleased to note the edge of breathlessness to her voice. “But why do the usual on the full moon?” 

He gave a tight laugh, trying to keep his hips from following her motions. “Is that why you’re like this?”

Her eyes narrowed and she stopped entirely. Her voice sharpened. “Like what?”

He opened his mouth, trying to think of how to politely word “hornier than that time Runaan got his head tangled up with Ethari’s,” and also  _ Please, fuck, don’t stop moving _ , realized there was no such possibility, and gave up. 

Tiadrin took his silence as the apology it was and started her movements again, quicker now, and more insistent, like she was trying to get something from him — which, okay, he supposed she was, just that wasn’t exactly the sort of thought he’d normally have cross his mind —

She leaned back further, lifting her hips from his lap entirely, so she was free to slide against him as she pleased. Between hazy thoughts and flashes of lust so deep, they shook him to his very core, Lain took a moment to marvel at the bend and flex of her stomach, considering the strength it took to hold herself so. Tiadrin, evidently, did not appreciate his lapse in attention, dropping her weight back into his lap and shooting her hand out to grasp him through his pants.

His own hand flew from her hips and to his crotch, from shock if nothing else, but Tiadrin had been anticipating this, and caught his wrist with her free hand. She wrestled him into the floor, impressively keeping her grip through his struggle. When he was flat on his back, arms caught and pressed over his head, cock held in a too-tight grip, he squirmed, trying to evade the overbearing sensation.

Her fingers tightened at his resistance, and he keened, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes. 

“Stop fighting me,” she growled into his ear, and he struggled against her for another moment before going lax. Her grip loosened, and he near sobbed with relief.

“Pay attention to me next time,” she said, tone softer, almost chiding, and her fingers traced teasing lines up the straining fabric of his pants.

“Yes, okay, yes, I’m sorry, just please  _ please  _ —”

She took hold of him again, and when he opened his eyes to plead with her, she was smirking. He knew what he looked like, face flushed, eyes wet, chest heaving. She loved it, had said so explicitly multiple times — after she’d reduced him to a mess of his previous composure.

“Please what?” 

Despite himself, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Tiadrin,  _ don’t _ start with this cliche.”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to be making demands,” she said, but her eyes were dancing with mirth, clearly enjoying herself.

“ _ Fine _ .” He enunciated the word to be sure she understood he was humoring her. “ _ Please  _ fuck me.  _ Please _ be sure to make proper use of any and all orifices — that’s yours and mine — so I don’t have to explain to Runaan why I need to skip practice tomorrow morning because my wife decided, by whatever cruel demons play politics in her mind, that I deserve blue balls.  _ Again _ .” He gave her a flat look. “Will that suffice?”

“I do believe so.”

“Also, please don’t make me wait thirty minutes to come.” 

She pouted. “But it’s so  _ fun _ .” 

He snorted. “For  _ you _ . Maybe one day, when Garlath is bored and wants you to understand the male predicament, and he slaps a dick on you —”

She clapped a hand to his mouth, scowling. “Do not finish that sentence. I will beat your ass.”

He licked her hand, and she drew it back with a disgusted noise. He grinned, high on the lust, the fun of their banter. “You say that like I won’t enjoy it.” 

“Ugh, be quiet.” 

“Make me.” 

He made it sound like a question because he knew how she got touchy when he made demands during sex, and she helpfully, blissfully, divested him of his pants, which caught on his boots, but she got rid of those too. When she was done, she scooted back to look at him, which might have been intimidating had he not been so used to it. Tiadrin seemed to get off on exhibition almost as much as the sex itself. 

She seemed pleased with him, because her tongue flicked against her lips and her breath caught just enough to be noticable, and that was flattering in and of itself; Tiadrin was hard to ruffle. Her hand slid to her waistband, and he almost thought she was going to remove it from her person, and that was hot enough, but then her hand kept going, and he could see the outline of her fingers through the fabric, moving just slightly as she tipped her head back and sighed, and — yeah, that was a lot hotter. 

He bit back a groan, watching her, and felt himself twitch in time with her motions. Knowing she wouldn’t like it, and hoping she was distracted enough not to notice, his hand inched its way down across his belly. Of course, that was much too lucky for someone like Lain. Tiadrin’s eyes slid open and when she saw what he was doing she hissed like an angry cat. 

Lain blinked.  _ What the actual fuck. It’s like she has a sixth sense or shit. Gods forbid I  _ enjoy  _ myself for once. _

__ Her hand emerged from her trousers, fingers wet, and he had only a moment to process that as hot before she was reaching for him again, halting his hand before he could take himself in hand.

He looked at her with an expression he hoped didn’t show his desperation. “Don’t do this again.”

She slid atop him and bore him to the floor. “I  _ will _ , and I  _ am _ ,” she said. “And don’t pretend you don’t like it.” She palmed him, and bare, he was so much more sensitive. He bucked into her hand, eyes flying closed, head turning to the side. Her tongue laved at his exposed neck, her hand tightening to stroke him properly. She brought her other hand to his face, thumb tracing the lines beneath his eyes in a motion that might have been described as tender if it wasn’t  _ Tiadrin _ . 

To even out the tables, she dug her nail into the point beneath his glans and teased circles into his flesh until he was writhing, clawing at the floor and begging her to take him harder. 

She leaned forward and licked into his mouth as if she might take his pleas into herself, fingers trailing down to pull at his foreskin and balls. He tried to kiss her, but his breaths kept getting in the way, and eventually she gave up, moving her mouth to his ear instead. 

Lain didn’t mind. So long as she let him come, which he felt was going to happen very soon, she could do whatever she wanted. Except — 

Her hand stopped.

— that.

“Why do you enjoy this?” he lamented. “It’s like you don’t even love me.”

Tiadrin seated herself more firmly against him, and he twitched against her trousers. “Last I checked,” she said dryly, “one does not have to let the other come endlessly to showcase their love.” 

“It’s not ‘endlessly,’ ” he grumbled, hands settling on her hips as she gave an experimental rock of her hips. “It’s never.” 

“Same thing.”

“Ha! A perfect example of your cruelty.” 

“It’s not cruel if you like it,” she said stubbornly, and he decided to shut up before she got pissed enough to stop again.

She ground against him until she found a rhythm she liked, which was of course quick and brutal as the rest of her. He tilted his head back until his horns hit the floor. When she’d become so invested in their varying states of dress, he did not know, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. There was something distinctly erotic about it — no, suggestive — no, filthy — no, — okay,  _ hot _ . It was just hot. And the friction was wonderful.

She changed her angle, pressing against him  _ hard _ , and he cried out with abandon, twisting against her until her palms met his shoulders and reminded him that he did not have any choice in the matter. 

“Do you like this?” she hissed into his ear. “Do you like how hard you get while I still have my clothes on?”

“ _ Yes _ . Oh, gods, Tiadrin, I’m gonna come.” 

He rolled his hips into hers, thinking that once,  _ maybe _ , she’d let him, without any strings, without him having to beg or get her off three times beforehand?

_ Of course not, Lain. What, you think today’s special because it’s the full moon? _

“Mercy” was not a trait Tiadrin could boast.

She slowed when she saw him nearing his peak, lips turning up at his frustrated breath. 

He threw an arm over his eyes. “Sadist.” 

“You love it.” 

“Yeah,” he muttered into his bicep.

He felt her shift her weight to her knees, then stand, but he did not bother looking at her, even as he heard the sound of shuffling feet and rustling clothing, still struggling to catch his breath. When bare flesh settled against him he pulled his arm from his face, feeling heavy and sluggish, and looked up at her. 

She eyed him with something like amusement and waited for him to realize —

“Where’d your pants go?” 

“Over there.” She pointed to the space beside her, where upon inspection, he indeed found her pants.

“Uhm,” he said eloquently, and she smiled then, a real smile the likes of which he rarely saw. It made her look younger, and kinder, than she was.

“You’re an idiot,” she intoned. How she managed to make an insult sound affectionate, he would never know.

“...Thanks?” he echoed, still caught in the new expanse of flesh seated atop him, which was infinitely more interesting than whatever drivel came from her mouth. Not that he’d ever say that to her face.

"Can we fuck now?" he asked hopefully, blindly ignoring the fact that fucking Tiadrin did not mean "intercourse until completion," but rather "lying still while Tiadrin got herself off multiple times and didn't let him come until she _ felt like it. _ "

She laughed at him as if she knew his thoughts. She probably did, if he was as easy to read as she claimed. 

"Yes, Lain," she said, voice heavy with affection and reached down to slip him inside her. 

" _ Ah _ , okay _ fuck _ , slow next time, yeah?"

"No," she said primly, rising once and then dropping back to his hips.

He arched into her and moaned. It wasn't _ fair _ how good that felt, because judging from her lack of reaction it felt a hell of a lot better for him than for her. If he were a nicer elf married to a nicer elf, he would say it was unfair for the disparity in their pleasure, but him being who he was, influenced by who he was, he thought it was unfair because his greater pleasure meant more chances to keep him from orgasm.

In essence, Tiadrin had to do very little work to garner a very intense reaction, and for someone who got off on his suffering, that was the most entertaining thing she could do.

Case in point:  _ unfair. _

So she rolled her hips and ground against him and he did best not to come, eyes screwing shut, mind gone blank but for that single bi-word mantra:  _ not yet not yet not yet _ .

Eventually, Tiadrin slowed, tiring of their stalemate. She muttered a quiet "Fuck." She hated to lose; no matter that it wasn't supposed to be a competition in the first place. Lain, for his part, took her stopping as a blessed reprieve from her torment and a moment to catch his breath.

Tiadrin eyed him. 

She seemed to come to a conclusion and said bluntly, "Don't come," before she resumed fucking him and reached for her clit.

_ Shitfuck _ .

Lain stifled a scream by shoving his knuckle into his mouth, eyes shutting hard enough to squeeze a few tears. Something Tiadrin seemed not to understand, no matter how many times he explained it to her, was that it was a lot easier to get him off when she stopped trying. As in, it was a lot harder to keep from coming when she was enjoying herself too.

And she was. When she got into it, she went at it with all the stubborn will she gave everything else, chasing her release like it was prey to be hunted. He opened his eyes and watched her. His vision was blurry, little spots of light working the edges and casting her hair in a disheveled halo. She was riding him hard now, brows furrowed, chest heaving, and her fingers worked her clit furiously.

He reached forward without thinking, running his fingers down her belly and into her slick. Despite the frequency of their sex, she rarely let him touch her, and the novelty was not lost on him. Her, neither. She lifted her head to meet his gaze, her eyes piercing through his muddled state and going straight to his fractured sense of self preservation. He froze, breath caught in his throat, fingers in her cunt. For a moment, he thought she'd bat his hand away, maybe remove herself altogether, but after another tense moment, she covered his hand with hers and gave him an amused nod.

Releasing a breath, he grinned, a surge of lust warring with affection. He touched her softly, tenderly, so that she might understand how much he appreciated her trust, when she gave it to him. She'd stopped moving on him and now sat atop him quietly, silently assessing the place they were joined.

Lain yelped when she flexed, the jump of her stomach mirroring the contraction inside her.

He blew his hair from his face so he could glare at her properly. She was smirking again. Definitely not the tone he'd been going for.

"Lain," she deadpanned. "You're touching me like I'm a virgin after I literally just fucked you into the ground. If you're not gonna make me come, I'll just get off in the bathroom."

She wasn't lying. He'd laughed once and never made the mistake again. 

"Sorry," he said.

"Don't be sorry. Just fuck me!"

"I thought I was."

"No,  _ I  _ was fucking  _ you _ , and then you gave me a tickle. Just do it like how I do it."

He choked on his own spit trying to keep his laugh in. Did she realize what she was saying? He didn't think so. "I really don't think that's what you want," he wheezed. When he saw her darkening expression, he did his best to sober. He knew what she'd meant, which was that she wanted it rougher than a "tickle." He supposed he could oblige.

He reached for her again, and she spread her thighs, even going so far as to pull her hand away. A blinding invitation, from her. Pleased, he slid his fingers through her slick until he found her clit. There he let his hand linger, working slow only long enough to get her to swear at him — his version of payback. He increased his pace, rubbing quick, tight circles, and she sighed, beginning to move on him again in slow, languid motions, a fluid movement from hips to spine. He stared at the ceiling to keep from imminent release, focusing solely on her pleasure. 

He pressed harder, and she released a hot rush of air through her teeth.

_ "Yes _ ," she hissed. "Like that, Lain. Harder."

He pressed hard enough he thought he would hurt her, but she arched and moaned in the back of her throat, and he was gone.

He grit his teeth and groaned, pleasure flaring white hot at the base of his spine and then rocketing through his legs and into his groin. She pulled off him halfway through his release, and he spilled the rest into the crux of her thighs. She grimaced, not overly fond of the mess, but he couldn't even find it in himself to be chagrined.

It had been far longer than thirty minutes.

Tiadrin slipped onto the floor beside him, and he watched her finish herself off with intense interest. When she peaked, her lips parted on a moan and her thighs opened, revealing the mess he'd made between them, which was hot as all hell. He twitched weakly.

He sent a stern glare down.  _ Quiet, you. _

A few seconds later, Tiadrin settled beside him, pulling his head between her shoulder and breast, slotting his horns carefully, and slipped her ankle beneath his calf. 

"Happy now?" he yawned.

"No. You didn't even get me off."

He nudged her. "But you did. That's even better, isn't it?"

She was smiling. "Better than your fumbling, yeah."

"So there's no reason to be upset," he reasoned. "You come, I come, everyone comes, happiness for everyone."

She snorted indelicately. "Nice poetry."

  
  



	2. Jasmine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first time, together — not in general. Lain prompts Tiadrin into some convoluted explanation as to her need for control. Tiadrin is mean about it, obviously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime pre-rayla, pre-dragonguard, pre-marriage, just — pre everything, yeah?

It wasn’t the first time they’d made out in Tiadrin’s kitchen, but it was the first time they’d made out for quite so long and in such specific circumstances, these being firstly that Tiadrin had just finished in the sparring ring, which she normally did not do so late in the evening while Lain just so  _ happened  _ to be in the area and stayed to watch, and secondly that Lain had just finished eye-fucking her as discreetly as he could in such close proximity. Then there was the fact that she’d come up to him, still soaked in sweat and with muscles standing out from her exertion, and invited him to her home with a certain look in her eye and a trailed hand up his arm, both of which did not help the raging hard-on he was sporting and still  _ was  _ twenty minutes later with Tiadrin crowding him against her kitchen counter.

She was kissing him like she was trying to suck his essence into her mouth — _oh god,_ _why is everything a sex thought right now —_ legs locked around his waist and knees resting atop the counter to aid in her reach. She smelled like sweat and that citrus something she used in the mornings, the ends of her hair brushing his jaw, and he was hyper conscious of the fact that she had been pressed against his arousal since she’d initiated and had not moved since. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. Tiadrin was a sexual creature, no doubt, but until then had not expressed an explicit desire to fuck him other than the occasional innuendo and the fact that she was wholly willing to reciprocate in scenarios like these.

He pushed her from him, which he had to do bodily because she was never happy when he tried to control the pace of their intimacy, and she scowled, refusing to release her grip on his waist or her hands on his neck. He let her; he didn’t particularly need those parts to speak, and he enjoyed the feel of her body.

“What is it?” she demanded, clearly impatient. 

He frowned. He didn’t want to broach the subject with anything less than the utmost delicacy. Tiadrin clearly had issues with trust and speaking of sex in a crass manner was an easy way to alienate the trust she’d already given him. 

“Tiadrin,” he said gently and saw her stiffen at his tone, lips already twisting in what was sure to be a scathing end to the conversation.

He spoke before she could. “Have you ever thought about — uh —” 

Now that he’d started speaking he wasn’t sure how to finish without sounding like a douchebag.

“Fucking?” she said dryly.

“Ah, yeah, that.” 

“It’s alright, Lain. I’m a big girl.” She pulled her legs from his waist and dropped to the floor, and he mourned the loss for a good second before hauling his mind back to the present.

_ Come on, Lain. You’re a big boy, too. You can do conversations. _

He cleared his throat, noting the stance she’d taken: arms crossed, feet set. Defensive. He grimaced. Not a good start.

“So, I was thinking,” he began, but she cut him off with a laugh.

“You were thinking about my cunt.”

“Um.” She said things like that sometimes, just pulled something filthy from thin air and said it for the reaction it would garner from her peers. He’d spent long hours trying to figure out  _ why _ and was only just beginning to realize it was an easy way to deflect.

He set his jaw, determined. This was one thing he was not willing to let her win. “Tiadrin, we need to talk about this. Seriously. No evading.”

“I’m not —” 

She snapped her mouth shut and scowled. One thing he could give her credit for: she knew when her stubbornness would make her look stupid. He stepped closer, hesitant but resolute. She didn’t like people getting close to her when she was like this, and he couldn’t be sure if she would lash out at him or not.

“Can we talk?” he tried again, careful not to let his tone soften too far. She would say he was coddling her and tell him to fuck off if she knew of his concern.

She smirked at him, but he could see the jagged something she hid behind it. “You don’t want to fuck me.” 

He blinked, uncomprehending.  _ That  _ was what was bothering her? She had to be kidding. She  _ had  _ to be. He looked her over, still ruffled from her time in the ring, shirt hanging open from when he’d gotten a bit too handsy, and swallowed in a suddenly dry throat. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I really do.”

“ ‘You’re pretty sure you really do,’ “ she echoed, and he was almost positive she was mocking him. She cocked her hip against the counter and crossed her arms beneath her breasts, which — he wasn’t sure if she was doing that on purpose, like to test his chivalry or something, but he kept his eyes locked on her face and watched as her lips parted to speak —

_ No, stop it, Lain. An adult — you’re one of those. _

“Yeah,” he said, voice sounding strained even to his own years. “I’m not at my most eloquent right now. You know what I mean.” 

She tapped a finger against her chin, regarding him. “I do. You, on the other hand, do not.”

He was pretty sure that didn’t make sense but was too busy watching her push off the counter and move towards him, light-footed and quick as a cat. She slid around behind him and pulled his back flush against her chest, pressing her lips to his neck.

Lain choked, hands grasping at the air. “You’re giving mixed signals here,” he said. 

She spun him around to face her, and despite her earlier coquetry, her face was deadly serious. “You can’t just fuck me, Lain,” she said. “I have rules.” 

“Uh, I don’t think that’s just you,” he said, feeling like he was missing something important.

She huffed. “ _ Yeah _ , but not like me.” She looked up at him, and he had to be dreaming because she almost seemed  _ uncertain _ . “I have some...problems.” 

He stayed very still and very quiet. Tiadrin didn’t tell people things, not even him. He didn’t want to startle her away from what felt a very personal confession.

She stepped away from him and dropped her gaze to the floor. “I’m not what you’re expecting. I’m not like other people.” She sucked on a tooth, seeming troubled. “I like pain. I...like to hurt people.” 

He stared at her. Stared at her some more.

Then he burst out laughing.

She glared at him, somehow managing to look both mortified and murderous at the same time. “I swear I’m going to kill you,” she hissed. She stepped towards him and cocked a fist. 

“You’re sure that’s not to get yourself off?”

The fist shot towards his jaw, and he scrambled backwards, knocking over a chair in haste to get away. He held up his hands, trying in vain to say “No, wait, wait, sorry,” through his laughter. It wasn’t working. 

Usually, a pissed off Tiadrin was enough to make him shit his pants, but as he was, he would have a hard time taking the dragon king seriously.

“Okay, just listen, listen,” he said, struggling to regain his breath. He was still grinning like an idiot. Tiadrin was stalking towards him with intent, so he very carefully put the table between himself and her. She wasn’t always predictable when she was angry.

“Tiadrin, listen,” he said, seriously now.

She glared at him and snapped, “What?” But she stopped trying to eye a tactical way through the mess of chairs that blocked her path to Lain, so he took it as a win. 

“I’m sorry for laughing,” he began, to which she scoffed. “ _ Really _ , I know how hard it is to be vulnerable, least of all for someone like you. I was a dick.”

“Stop blabbering and get on with it,” she said, but he knew she was listening.

“What you said — it’s just” — He couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. — “how long have you known me?”

She paused. “Six years, I think. Why?”

“And how long have you looked at me as something you could fuck?” 

She sputtered. “How is that relevant?” 

He raised a brow and grinned. “You’re evading. A while, then.”

“I —”

“Next question,” he interrupted. “In all that time, when have you seen me show, ah,  _ interest _ in you?” 

She narrowed her eyes at him.

He grinned. “Surely you’ve noticed a pattern. Go on.”

She eyed him but responded in a slow timbre, “When you saw me take Janala out in the sparring ring. When I’m angry, which is damned annoying by the way.” She paused. “When I… When we kiss.” 

“Yes.” Feeling like his safety was no longer in jeopardy, he shoved the chairs aside and stepped around the table. His eyes dropped to her lips, and he stepped into her space, daring to reach up and cup her cheek. She let him, and she let him lean forward and kiss her, her mouth hungrier than he’d expected. She nipped at his lip as he pulled away, and he hummed appreciatively.

“More specifically, when you kiss me like that.”

She was smiling now, fiendish in the half light. Her expression sent a delighted tingle up his spine. 

“You like it,” she accused.

He hoisted her leg over his hip and rocked his hips into hers, moaning. “Yeah,” he said, breathless, “I really fucking do.” 

He made to kiss her again, but then his world was tilting on its axis, his breath flying from his chest as he was slammed bodily into the floor. He looked up, dizzy, and saw Tiadrin looming over him, seated on his hips with her palms on his shoulders. 

“A good thing,” she said. “ ‘Cause you’re not gonna fuck me without feeling a  _ lot _ of it.”

She slid down his body, not even bothering to leave a trail of kisses or otherwise prep him for what she was so clearly intending. She set to work on his belt.

Lain couldn’t seem to get enough air into his lungs. “W-wait.”

She gave him her attention but otherwise batted away his feeble attempts to stop her.

“ _ Now _ ? Seriously —”

She had his pants to his knees and his cock out before he could finish his sentence. He choked on his own spit trying to get the words out. “ _ Hnngh _ , we were supposed to  _ talk _ .” 

“They say lovemaking is the speech of the soul,” she said dramatically. 

“But —”

“I know, we’re ‘fucking,’ so that bullshit doesn’t really apply, but it sounds nice and I’ll say it again if you’ll shut up.”

She pulled on his cock as she finished speaking, rendering him mum save his moaned exhale. “Or I could just do that.” Her hand tightened to the point of pain and dragged up deliciously slow.

Lain strained, back bowing. “A-ah,  _ fuck _ .” 

Tiadrin moaned and ground into his thigh. Her trousers were  _ soaked _ . 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he said again, markedly more wrecked than he’d been.

“Yes,” she sighed, “swear for me, baby.” He was caught by the look in her eyes, the sharp blue holding a jagged edge he’d never seen before, registering it as both terrifying and devastatingly hot, a balance Tiadrin seemed to have mastered perfectly. 

She stroked him faster, seemingly impatient, her breaths coming high and sharp. He tried to tell her to slow down, that he’d come in seconds like this, but she shoved her fist into his mouth and told him to shut up. 

She seemed pleased with the position even after it had lost its efficacy, and she kept her hand there while she fondled his balls. Lain did not try to stop her. Despite his inexperience with things of this nature, it wasn’t like he’d never had sex; he wasn’t a  _ prude _ . In fact, he quite valued his openness in all things sexual. It just so happened that Tiadrin with her fist in his mouth and cock in her grip, imprinting a wet spot on his thigh, was doing interesting things to his insides. 

Namely, his heart, which felt like it had grown a pair of wings and was fluttering madly around his ribcage, and his stomach, which could not decide if it wanted to sit in his throat or the very pit of his abdomen. 

Tiadrin pulled her hand from his mouth and reached for his chest, fingers slipping beneath his shirt collar and running down the slope of his pectorals. He breathed in, breath hollowing out his chest, and stuttered his exhale when she plucked at his nipple. She turned her fingers in and let her nails work instead, the pain sharper now, a knifepoint amidst the pleasure. 

“You gonna come for me?” she asked him, and his eyes immediately dropped shut at her molten tone, nodding because he didn’t think he could speak anymore.

“Good, ‘cause you know I can’t come until you have, and I need it a hell of a lot more than you do.” 

She punctuated her statement by dropping onto his thigh, using the slick that had seeped through her trousers to slide against him.

His breath punched out of his lungs, and he came over her knuckles, scrabbling at her wrist as she continued to touch him past what was comfortable. 

“Fuck, fuck,  _ stop _ .”

She didn’t. 

“I told you it would hurt,” she said into his ear. “By the time I’m done, you’re going to wish you’d never asked me to take you. I’m gonna make you fucking  _ bleed _ .” 

It seemed to excite her to say these things, for her breathing shallowed and her pupils dilated, hand flexing noticeably against his flesh. She dug her nails into his cockhead, and he howled, flinging out with a hand so that he might grasp  _ something  _ solid. She used the fluid soaking her knuckles as an excuse to grasp him tighter, slide against him quicker. He came again, spilling against his belly and over the mess he’d already made of her hand.

She didn’t pursue him this time, gods bless her.

When he came down, and his head didn’t feel like it was spinning circles from lack of blood, he groggily turned his head to find her hovering over him with such a blase look he could almost be offended if not for the restless twitch of her fingers.

She said, “Can I fuck your ass?” 

His hand flew down to his crotch when his cock gave a painful twitch, reminding him that he was past the normal quota of orgasms per session. He laughed weakly. “Are you always so blunt?” 

“Yes,” she said. “Answer, please.” 

He grinned. “You said ‘please.’ “

“And you’re bad at evading,” she said, annoyed. “Answer the fucking question.” 

Momentarily caught off guard by her vitriol, he stammered, “Uh, I’ve never — never really done that before. But, uhm, if it’s with you, that’s alright...I guess.” He finished weakly, wilting beneath her stare. 

Her expression was inscrutable, and she was silent for a long moment before she reached for his shoulder, the motion seeming out of place. She was trying to...console him? 

“You know I love you?” she said, and he nodded, not really understanding. 

“And you know I appreciate your honesty,” she continued, “because most people are too bone-shit terrified when they see me to tell me what they think to my face.”

“...yeah?”

She blew out a harsh breath in that way he knew meant she was falling into self-loathing. “I’m bad at this,” she muttered, then seemed to muster something from deep within herself, as if suiting up for battle. He watched with concern; he didn’t like that she had to arm herself in the face of vulnerability.

“I want you,” she said bluntly.

“Okay… I would be kinda worried if you went into this  _ not  _ wanting me.”

“No. I  _ want  _ you. Really fucking bad.” She looked at him, willing him to understand. 

He didn’t. He reached to cup her face, and she leaned into his touch. He could see the fractured edges of her, not knowing what had caused them in the first place or what she had used to seal the breaks back together but also not really caring. So long as she talked to him, it didn’t matter.

“Explain?” he offered, then added, “If you want someone to accept your darkest secrets, no better way to do it than by making him come so hard it blows out his ears.”

She turned her face up at the description. “That’s disgusting.” He knew she was warring with herself because she didn’t take the opportunity to snark him back. She seemed more upset than when she’d first told him she liked offing out pain. 

“ _ Ugh _ , I hate this,” she snarled, hands grasping at her hair with sudden anger. “This fucking —” She breathed out, hard, and turned to look at him straight on again. “It’s really fucking hard for me to do things like this, you know?”

“I know,” he said.

“Okay, so you know that already. That makes this simpler. I’m not — You know I’m no good with  _ feelings _ .” She spat the word like it was venom. “And then I go and meet someone who gives me lots of them, a shitton, really, and then he asks to fuck me, and there’s no way I can just say yes and call myself a good person, knowing what I know about myself, what I like doing to people. So I thought I could just get him off and that’d be enough, be done with it and do it for myself later. But it’s  _ not _ , Lain. I still want you. A lot. And that feels weird and not like me at all and —”

“Scary?” he supplied.

“Yeah,” she finished quietly. She noticed his expression and scowled. “Why are you smiling?”

“Nothing. No reason.” He shook his head fondly. “I’m just proud of you, is all.” 

She scowled harder. “Stop it. I want to fuck an elf, not a poetry book.” 

“I can be both,” he said. “And I said yes, so could you maybe...do that?”

She grinned. “Fuck your ass?” 

He squirmed. “...Yeah.” 

"Gladly. Now turn over."


	3. Sterling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dragonguard ceremony provides the perfect opportunity to slandor sanction and ceremony with adolescent-worthy horniness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk when this is bc idk the timeline of their life but it feels early in their relationship. Pre marriage? They're still figuring things out, Kay?

Tiadrin did not appreciate the delicacies of finer Moonshadow culture. She didn't like the itchy dresses that swung to the ankle and tripped her up on every other step, nor the incessant formalities — the bowing, the murmured chatter that never went above the dignified volume of a "burbling brook," the veiled threats and insults hidden thrice-over in compliments. There were two ways to Moonshadow living, the martial and the formal, and Tiadrin had taken to — and solely to — the former.

Lain was of a similar mind, but he could play the part of the courtly elf when there was a gala or invite he could not decline. Tiadrin always found some excuse or another to evade attending, a skill he'd sadly never been able to pick up due to his absolutely abysmal ability to lie, and unfortunately for his wife, there came a time even she could not weasel her way out. Every twelfth year, when a new pair of Dragonguards was chosen to represent the Moonshadows, a celebration was held in their respective hometown. The Silvergrove had not seen a ceremony in over a century, and naturally, the Council had gone a bit overboard in event planning. 

Flanked by an honor guard of traditional six, they walked a hidden passage on the northern corner of the village, following the border wall to their esteemed location, where, upon their arrival, they would be welcomed by the masses and formally embellished with their titles. They were bedecked in finery, gossamer fans of white and brocade silk tunics with silver limning the chests. While not a fan of the way his own attire pulled at him while he walked, he could certainly appreciate the effect on Tiadrin's appearance, the tunic accentuating her bust, the trousers her hips, the enameled colors and the moonlight suffusing her eyes with ethereal flecks of silver.

Of course, she saw none of the appeal and all of the wear.

"Why am I wearing this?" she complained, as if Lain had been the one to drag her from bed that morning and slap the clothes on her himself. 

"I don't know, honey," he said. "Tradition, probably."

"You'd think the Council could make better use of its time than finding new ways to irritate me."

"I doubt that was their intention."

She snorted. "Right. As if Lianne hasn't been looking to get me back since that one time last solstice."

"You did call her a whoring bitch to her face."

"I did, didn't I?" She almost sounded proud. Nothing cheered Tiadrin up like a reminder of her past conquests. 

Lain gave her a disapproving look.

"What?" She held out her hands. "She is!"

From behind, a laugh was concealed in a cough. Lain glanced over his shoulder but was met with only the stony countenance of the rear guard — was the left-side elf walking just a tad stiffly? he couldn’t tell.

Sighing, he turned back around and muttered, “I’m glad someone finds my wife’s ill humor entertaining.” 

“It’s not ill if the majority finds it funny,” she said. “Besides, the only reason you don’t like it is because sometimes the joke’s on _you_.”

Another cough from behind, and when Lain turned, he was almost certain he knew the reason why the left-side guard had his face turned to the sky. 

“You know, it’s perhaps unprofessional to be eavesdropping when you have a job to do,” Lain snapped.

The guard didn’t even look at him. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. Scanning the perimeter.” 

“Yes, and you’re coughing why?”

“I’ve just come off a cold.”

He scoffed. “Listen to him, Tia. He’s a worse liar than me.”

“You could use some work, Viari,” Tiadrin said in an apologetic tone. 

“I will work on it, Tiadrin,” he said respectfully. 

Lain looked back and forth between them. “Since when do you know the guards’ names?”

“Since I haven’t spent the entire walk eye-fucking my spouse,” she said, “which can’t be said of some other people around here.” 

Several coughs this time, from various people.

Lain scowled.

When the distant sounds of merriment were loud enough to be heard over the classic nighttime cacophony, crickets and owls and skinnerbirds, and he could feel the music thrumming through the ground at his feet, Lain allowed himself to sigh. 

"No," Tiadrin gasped. "Is the 'lord of merry' getting cold feet?"

"Tia —"

He cut off with a help when she slugged him in the arm. 

"What was that for?"

"You've gotten far too comfortable calling me that," she said. "You needed reminding."

"I'm not a moonstrider pup," he grumbled.

"You may as well be, and a castrated pup at that."

He sighed heavily but offered no denial, even as the coughing act was dropped and actual laughter sounded around him.

"Forgive me for saying so, Lain, but your wife has you strung up tight," the right-side rear guard said.

"By the balls," the left-side added. At Lain's pained expression, he softened and added, "Don't take it too hard. It's only obvious to us because we're trained in observational skills."

"I take it back, Viari," Tiadrin said. "You're a _wonderful_ liar. 

The forest thinned, trees broadening into a large clearing. Beads of silver etched the tree-branches, stardrops thrown from the onlookers below in a tradition old as time.

The priestess emerged from the crowd like water on silk, moonflies playing incandescent stars on her swaying robes. 

"Dragonguard," she said formally, "follow my lead."

She turned on her heel and slipped back into the crowd, the people parting easily this time with the obvious retinue behind her. Voices quitened as they passed, faces gone reverent and solemn.

"Shite," Tiadrin muttered. "Look at them, like scolded pups."

Lain side-eyed her. "I think that's just them paying their respects."

" 'Paying their respects.' " She scoffed. "I'm not _dead_."

Lain sighed. "You don't need to be dead for people to respect you. It's hard getting into the Guard. Everyone knows that."

Tiadrin curled her lip. "I hate these things. You better fuck me good after this. I deserve it."

Lain sputtered for half a moment, but then they were ascending the dais and he had to hold his tongue lest the village turn on him for his disrespect.

The ceremony consisted of a triple binding: the first to the Dragon King and his heir, the second to uphold the Moonshadow name with honor and respect, the third from partner to partner. When it came time for the third, the priestess asked that they face each other and join hands. The oaths were almost like the vows of a handfasting, meant to be a personal acknowledgement of the other's skills and a promise to cherish and protect. This was the binding that kept them alive, for it was only through great trust that they two would succeed in battle. 

To Tiadrin, he said, "In the light of the Moon and the truth she demands, on my oath as Guard and the honor it demands, I bind myself to you, through the best and the worst of this solemn duty, disparity and triumph, wealth and loss, through life until death, and your moon sets; my spirit like yours.

Tiadrin repeated the words back to him, her face for once free of wit or merry. It felt uncomfortably intimate, her holding his hand, looking at him like that, even with the few hundred faces staring up at him. Though their words were the same, their tones were markedly different. Where Lain was stolid and earnest, Tiadrin was strikingly intent, sharp and concise and wholly dedicated. It was the closest she'd come to blatant affection, and he felt a swell of giddy pride that she'd chosen him as the target of her prowess. 

The ceremony closed with the priestess's officiation of their vows in the light of the moon and an affirmation from the gathered elves, a chorused aye that thrummed through the heart of the woods like the vibrato note of a bass drum. Then it was over, and the music sputtered to life and tables were dragged out, laden with fresh roast meat and fruits and candied nuts and wine. 

The honor guard clapped hands to their shoulders before dispersing to take part in the merriment, and the priestess, too, descended with a nod. They followed a moment later, hounded by hoots and hollers of congratulations. Lain thanked them. Tiadrin ignored them.

She led him to the far end of the grove where they might not be so easily spotted and immediately went for the moonberry wine. For all she chided him, Tiadrin liked a drink as much as the next elf. Lain took the risk and swiped a glass for himself, and apparently all he had to do to get a drink in peace was endure the torture of a formal ceremony, for she didn't comment when he took a swig.

As the party progressed and the attention eased from them, Tiadrin leaned into him and muttered, “Wanna fuck?”

“When do I not?” he whispered back.

She squinted. “Uh…”

“That wasn’t meant to be a real question.”

She blinked. “Oh. Why’d you ask, then?”

He sighed internally. “Do carry on, Tiadrin.”

She shrugged, set her glass on the table, and sauntered off into the crowd, and he gleaned from her posture that he was meant to follow. It was much too hard to say so, obviously — no, the purpose of language was to insult people, not further communication! Really, the insinuation was insane, unrealistic and excessive —

Aaand, that’s enough internal ranting.

As they walked, people offered their congratulations or well-wishes, sometimes the bare flash of a smile or a clap on the shoulder. Again, Tiadrin paid them no mind; Lain was sure to greet them all for the both of them.

They made it to the edge of the room with little difficulty. Once there, Tiadrin halted their journey and motioned him to stand beside her. 

“Okay, now’s the real challenge,” she told him. “We have to get out of here without gathering attention.”

“We should split up, then,” he said. 

“Yeah, and space it out. You go first. I’ll meet you by the fountains in twenty minutes.” 

Lain nodded and slipped away. Along the way, he paused intermittently to join the conversations of his better acquaintances, offering words of thanks and quick greeting in order to appease as many as he could in as short a time as possible. His hope was that once he was gone, there would be enough people to attest to his presence that the rest dropped their suspicions. 

His final conversation he had with a woman whom he couldn’t figure out whether was flirting or just very oblivious to the hundred little insinuations she’d made. When he could no longer bear the discomfort, he botched a very poor excuse of needing to visit the washroom and made his way out of the square entirely. 

Once outside, he drew in a deep breath, noting with wonder the stark change in atmosphere in locations of such close proximity. Where the gathered square had been snug and uncomfortably warm, stifling even, he found the air outside was pleasantly cool. The silence was a fresh relief, and the few elves he did see were happy enough to keep to themselves, enjoying the company of a partner or the solace of the stars.

He straightened and walked back along the path he’d first taken, which, despite him having visited only hours before, was much more easily appreciated without Tiadrin and her retinue of six hounding his steps. He found himself smiling as he made his way down the path and banked right towards the gardens. It really was peaceful, and when he finally halted in the shadowed recesses of the stone fountains, a carved effigy of the moon’s grace on the rippling pools below the clawed peaks in the east, the minutes between his and Tiadrin’s meeting passed in a near meditative blur. 

When he finally made note of the soft patter of footsteps on the stone behind him, he was pleasantly relaxed, and reacted barely at all when small hands settled on his shoulders and drew him further into the dark. He followed Tiadrin’s guidance until his back hit the stone, and he could see nothing of her but the sterling gleam of her eyes. 

The sky was clear, though, and the moonlight strong, and it was not long at all before sylvan eyes adjusted to the gloom and he could make her out in full, regal features, embellished finery, fiendish grin and all.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” she noted, pressing her lips to the flesh beneath his jaw, hands already wandering across the planes of his chest.

“It’s nice out,” he said softly, his voice coming out warmer than he’d expected, probably from the impromptu meditation session.

"It's nice inside, too," she said, and he grinned at the entendre.

"I'm sure it is." His eyes slid halfway shut, lingering on her face and the moisture on her lips. She noticed his gaze and hauled him down for a kiss, immediately drawing his tongue into her mouth. 

He whined and tugged her closer, leaning her backwards to better angle over her. She nipped at his lips and ran her nails over his jaw, intent on righting the balance between them.

He pulled away with a slick noise, breathing hard, but couldn't keep his lips from her neck. "You know, it doesn't always have to be a fight," he said. "Sex is supposed to be fun."

Tiadrin bared her teeth. "Fighting is fun." She surged upwards and pulled another kiss from him, and he felt markedly more dizzy when she'd finished with him.

"See? You like it." Her expression was smug, and he couldn't help the flash of irritation. 

"Yes, but that doesn't mean you have to take advantage of it."

She seemed genuinely puzzled by that. "I'm not," she said. Then she pulled him further into the dark, away from the moonlight, and pressed him into the wall of the fountain with an assessing eye, her gaze so intense he could nearly feel it heating his flesh.

As quickly as that, his annoyance was forgotten, and he flushed at her brazen scrutiny. She noted his reaction with approval, grinning and reaching between them to grind her palm against his straining trousers. “You weren’t kidding before,” she said.

He gasped and raised his hips into her touch, her hand caught between their bodies but not enough of a barrier to keep him from feeling the slick and heat trapped in the junction of her legs. He managed a wild grin through the haze of his lust. “Neither were you.”

She didn’t usually like him talking back to her, but she seemed to make an exception; her eyes narrowed but with the familiar glint of competition. This in turn, roused his own, and he took sudden hold of her hips so that he could grind into the space between them, sending her knuckles into her cunt. Her eyes fluttered closed at the pressure, and she sucked in a surprised breath. Lain reveled in her momentary surrender and worked her harder.

When he was panting from the effort, and she was hissing through her teeth, her hand moving against herself even before the next roll of his hips, he slowed, then stopped altogether. Her eyes opened slowly, slightly disoriented, confused at the cessation of stimulus. He met her gaze and released his hold on her hips so that he was free to reach up and caress her face. His fingers trailed down along the slope of her brow and chin, down her neck, pausing between her breasts, her sternum and navel. He looked up at her again, intently, for now was usually the time she grew impatient or snapped at him or otherwise regained control of their intimacy. She did none of those things, only watched him with an uncharacteristic desperation.

He waited a moment longer, to see if she might give him some verbal prompting. She did not, of course — even a vulnerable Tiadrin was too proud for it. He sighed internally but the other part of him, the ravenous, lust-addled beast that dreamed debaucheries so lewd he would not voice them to the open air, rejoiced in the tacit permission to touch her freely. 

His hand slid between them, catching on fabric warmed by the healthy flush they’d worked up. When he encountered her own hand, he didn’t bother getting her to pull away entirely, merely squirmed his fingers in alongside hers and then beneath the waistband of her trousers. He pressed his face into her shoulder and stifled a groan at the slick heat he encountered.

“Shit, Tia, you’re so wet.”

She hummed and rocked against his hand, the motion light and experimental. “I told you,” she murmured. “Gods, I want to come so bad. Can you do that for me, Lain? Can you make me come?”

“Shit, _yeah_.” He moaned against her skin, hoisting her leg up over his hip, fingers slipping to get inside her despite the awkward angle. He normally had to work her open slow, but she was so wet already that he had his whole hand in on the first thrust. 

“Is that good?” he asked her, desperate for her approval, wanting to hear her voice in his ear while he fucked her, roused and wanting like she never was.

“Yeah.” Her sigh warmed the skin on his cheek, high and breathy. “Touch me where I like it.”

Despite her vagaries, he understood immediately, angling his hand to find the soft swell of tissue within her. He reached in further, hooking his fingers behind the swell and curling back towards his wrist, coaxing her fluids to the surface. Tiadrin immediately straightened, hand shooting out to grasp his wrist. She held him in place while he fucked her, and when he increased his pace slightly and thumbed at her clit, her nails bit into the surface of his flesh.

She swore. “ _Hh_ , yeah, you’re so fucking good at this. A little more and I’ll come on your fingers. You want that?”

“Yes, yes, _fuck_ , I’m so hard.”

Tiadrin grinned, some of the familiar energy returning to her face. “You’re gonna come before I even touch you.” She rolled her hips, the motion rocking his hand back against his groin.

“If you do that, yeah.”

She laughed breathlessly. “You’re such a slut for me. Make me come, Lain. I need to so bad.” 

Lain steeled his will against the cramping in his wrist and increased his pace, his whole hand working against her, inside her. She twisted, hips pistoning forward as they’d done before, and she continued to rock against him, her heat and weight adding to the bare friction against his cock. 

"Stop," he choked out, stilling her with a palm on the shoulder. "It's too much. I can't —"

She looked down at him and let out a laugh that somehow managed to convey both amusement and arousal. "Lain, I _like_ when you come. Time it right, and you'll get me off that way."

With that, she resumed her motions, a quick, spasmic rhythm to prolong the time his fingertips kept in contact with the point inside her. He immediately gave up the errant thought he had to stop her — it would neither work nor end well if he tried — and made use of his position. He curled his fingers in time with her motions, using the force behind them to aid the speed and pressure of his touch. Tiadrin seemed to like this effect, hips stuttering momentarily before resuming with increased vigor, hissing a surprised note in his ear and her direct approval. 

He felt a familiar pressure in his groin and swallowed hard, trying desperately to direct his attention elsewhere. It was hard when "elsewhere" was Tiadrin, flushed and panting on his fingers alone, tongue free of barbs for once. 

She reached down to rub her clit, knocking his thumb away and demanding that he make better use of his focus. He tried. He tried thinking of other things, picturing Runaan's face instead of hers (he shuddered at the mental picture and vowed to never think such a vile thought again), but Tiadrin had a very specific set of skills which all seemed perfectly tailored to harness another's attention. 

He bit his lip when her thigh made very deliberate, very elongated, contact with his cock. The pressure built in his gut and blossomed outwards, white-hot, painful. 

" _Fuck_." Tiadrin came to a sudden halt and shuddered, fingers pressing bruises into his wrist and shoulder. She swore again, at him, and he met her gaze dazedly. He'd sort of just stopped when he realized she was coming, but she was somehow glaring at him even through her climax.

" _Lain_ ," she spat his name like it was acid, chest heaving, hips jerking. "You ass. Fucking _move_."

His hand moved before he made a conscious decision to do so, probably his survival instinct reacting to the utter rage in her voice. 

" _Hard_ ," she demanded. 

He dug his fingers into her knot and twisted, and she moaned, stomach flexing once before she convulsed, inner walls pulsing around him like the mad wings of a butterfly. An inhaled breath was his only warning before she released on his fingers, a sudden rush of slick that slipped out around his knuckles and spattered on his trousers. His stomach had leapt to his throat even before the damp seeped through the fabric and he felt the warmth on his cock, so it was a given really that he came when he did.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_." He moaned brokenly and twisted against her, thighs flexing, muscles jerking against the weight she'd dropped in the laxness that came after her climax. When he came to, he registered vaguely the sensation of hands on his face, and then lips on his neck. Those lips curled into a smile as his awareness returned, smug and self-satisfied. 

"That was hot," she supplanted, and he flushed at the reminder. He was a mess. His trousers stained from the outside in, sweating like he'd been two hours in the sparring ring.

"I came in my pants," he complained. "I haven't done that since I was twelve."

"Mm, keep feeding my ego, why don't you?" She laughed when he flushed harder, the sound passing through his throat. "I'll have to make you do it again."

"Or you could not. I'd like to retain the illusion that I'm an adult with some semblance of control over myself." He slipped his hand from her and grimaced at the ache in his wrist. 

Tiadrin wriggled out of his grasp and sank to the ground at his feet. "You know it's no good lying to yourself."

He abandoned scrutinizing his hand in favor of dropping to the ground beside her, hauling Tiadrin into his arms and pressing his nose against her cheek. "Aye, it is good if it keeps me standing on my own two feet. You wouldn't want to have to drag me around everywhere because I rely on you for everything."

"Lain, you already rely on me for everything."


	4. Peach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Expansion on vulnerability. They're in the storm spire and have been married for a while

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been sitting unfinished in my files for three weeks :// I'm sooorry

Vulnerability. He pondered over it as he rummaged through the cabinet for a second towel. His wife wasn’t particularly good at it. She did not normally let him tend to her. Independence and pride made her prefer her own hand to another's, and suggestions to the contrary were seen as offenses. 

Lain couldn't say he understood her, but he could respect her wishes. He could give more than he took, and he could be quiet when she wanted him to be. He could ignore the outward bristles of her countenance, look deep enough to see her greater intentions. He could do all of that, he could do more, but in the end the final decision was hers. 

He shut the cabinet and padded barefoot down the hall. The bathroom door was open, a heap of armor and clothing left at the base.

Tiadrin sat in the bath half-hunched, the knobs of her spine visible amongst knots of muscle and scar tissue. Her eyes were shut, and her breath came in thin puffs of steam, coalescing in a sinuous ball of condensation and then dissipating into the surrounding air. The ends of her hair were wet but the rest was dry; she had not yet washed.

Lain stood on the threshold for a moment, contemplating. He made a decision, shut the door behind him. He padded carefully across the bathroom floor, avoiding puddles of water hidden by porcelain tiles, dropped the towels to the floor beside him and knelt, errant beads of water seeping through the fabric of his pants. Tiadrin had opened her eyes to watch his descent and now regarded him from over her left shoulder, chin resting atop her forearm. 

Lain dropped her a smile before reaching for the washcloth beside him. He gave it a shake before dipping it into the water. As soon as his skin touched the surface, he recoiled, grimacing. The water was near scalding. He shot a worried glance at Tiadrin, but she’d closed her eyes again, head tilted his way. 

Heaving a quiet sigh, he pressed forward and took gentle hold of her wrist. It said much about the day she’d had that her reaction was little more than a twitch.

“You aren’t going to join me?” she asked.

He looked up. “If you want me to —”

“I do.” 

He shut his mouth. 

Quietly, he set the cloth down, then pulled his shirt over his head. He observed himself for a moment, worrying at his lip, wondering why he felt so nervous about stripping nude for a bath of all things. 

Tiadrin dumped a handful of water on his head. Lain flinched at the heat, head ducking, and turned to face her.

She was smirking. "You're thinking too hard," she said.

He laughed. "This, from you."

She shrugged. "You're learning, I guess. Get in here."

Lain hummed a final pensive breath before stepping out of his pants. Still wearing his errant nerves, he was quick to slip into the tub, settling with knees up on either side, only just submerged. The bath was deep enough to engulf him to the ribs and wide enough to seat both of them without either jostling the other. He wasn't sure why the dragons had decided to invest in an ample bathing chamber of all things — honestly, they didn't indulge in the heated cleanses the Sunfire twins insisted on — but he supposed he could appreciate it now that the opportunity merited.

Tiadrin was still half-turned away when he entered, but she turned fully when he stilled and leaned back until her head met his shoulder, horns slotted behind his head. He took her invitation without questioning, coiling his arms around her waist and tugging her back against his thighs. Her sigh was almost inaudible, her muscles fluttering between taut and relaxed in the way of one who holds themself tense all day. Lain did his best to ease the process, pressing his lips to her hairline and calming his breath. Eventually, she relaxed. It was a conscious effort, as with all soft things; she tilted her head and looked at him, hesitated, then shut her eyes again. 

Her exhale was exhausted. 

"Good?" he murmured.

"Mm. Yeah." 

"Good." 

"...You're not gonna make me wash again, are you?"

"Tiadrin, we've been over this." His voice went chiding, teasing. "You spent three hours leaping around the sparring ring. That's three hours of sweating. You need a bath after that."

"I'm sweating now," she retorted. 

He flicked her ear, smiling. "That's because you heated the water so hot it's like a soup pot."

"It was bubbling not too long ago."

"Well, it'll bubble again now." Careful of her horns, Lain reached across the tub to the ledge on the opposite wall, pulling the jar of soap from its perch. He uncapped it with deft fingers and poured an ample amount into his palms. 

He paused. "You'll need to sit up so I can do your hair."

Tiadrin huffed. "Skip it for now."

He shook his head ruefully but did as she asked, setting the bottle aside and warming the soap in his hands. "Tell me if I should stop," he said.

She ran her fingers down his arm and said simply, "I will."

He started with her shoulders, circling the deltoids, then working down along her trapezius. He knit his fingers as he went, working the soap into her skin, righting the tight knots of muscle into softer epitomes of what they'd been. He ran along her biceps and forearms, paid special attention to her hands, even went so far as to bring them to his lips, one after another, smiling at her pointed scoff. He was quick at her throat and breasts, not for fear of modesty or discomfort but out of respect to her. She had not given any indication towards base want, and he saw no reason to shift the atmosphere thus.

When he'd finished scrubbing her body, he tapped her shoulder, and she grudgingly pulled herself upright, hands falling to grasp his calves in the absence of touch. He combed her hair into a lather, massaged her scalp and the heavy flesh at the base of her horns. She heaved a great breath and tugged forward. Lain let her go. He watched her wash the soap from her hair and body, feeling lightened rather than rejected. It was a good thing that she felt well enough to mind herself.

When she finished, she stood, water streaming from her shoulders in a sudden deluge, petering away into a rapid pitter-patter of clinging droplets. She stepped out of the bath, plucked a towel from the floor as she went. Lain pulled the drain and followed. They were quiet while they dried, but it was a soft sort of silence, borne of fatigue and gentled nerves. His hair hadn't gotten all that wet, so he finished first. He fiddled with the corner of the damp fabric, waiting for Tiadrin to signal completion. A minute passed before the towel fell to the floor.

She stretched and yawned. "Come to bed," she said and moved to pad out of the room. She made no attempt at redressing, so with a last glance at his missed clothing, he followed her.

She didn't like being on her back. She never said so explicitly, because of course she didn't, but her tells were obvious and she made no effort to hide them. Her hair, still damp, clung to her jaw and throat, as she lay on the bed, pulling him down on top of her. Her tone had shifted in the minutes since their bath, gone from muted and light to her familiar intensity; there was intention in her touch.

He ducked his head and mouthed at her shoulder, leaving messy kisses along her flesh. A hand came up to knot in his hair, her breath passing out on a sigh. He moved higher, caught the slender tip of her ear in his teeth.

"Can I touch you?" he asked, and she hummed softly, content.

"Yeah," she said. 

He smiled and pressed a final kiss to her skin before pulling away and sliding down her chest and belly, tracing a path with his lips. She caught him at her navel. 

"You said 'touch,' " she noted dryly. 

"I can touch with my mouth," he said, then cocked his head. "No?"

She smirked and flicked his nose. "I didn't say that." 

He watched her prop a pillow beneath her neck, half concerned and half amused that she felt the need to watch him so intently while he performed what should have been a relatively one dimensional interaction. When she'd finished fussing, she raised her brows at him as if it had been him passing the time. 

Huffing, he dropped off the bed and knelt on the floor, ignoring the slight discomfort of bare knees on wood in anticipation of what was to come. Tiadrin was already looking down at him when he glanced up, and he felt a momentary rush of panic when he realized she meant to watch him the entire time. Her gaze was far from light, and he wondered how he was meant to please her adequately while she scrutinized him like a bug beneath a glass.

Tiadrin seemed to note the expression on his face, because she snorted and reached a hand out to pat his cheek.

"Don't worry, love, this is a hard one to mess up." 

Lain coughed. "You said quite the opposite the first time we did this."

"Yes, well" — she flopped back against the pillows, head turning to the ceiling — "you were nothing short of horrendous, so."

Feeling markedly lighter, he let his lips turn up and reached out to take hold of her thighs. He gave a sharp tug, and she yelped, not quite dislodged from her pillows. 

She looked down and snapped, "What the fuck, Lain."

He grinned cheekily and slung her leg over his shoulder. "You were looking too comfortable," he said, and his breaths came washing over sensitive flesh, words started clear but quickly falling hush.

"That's the whole fucking point of this," she said, still irritable, but her muscles were coiled taut against him, and he saw the tension in her face.

He hummed rather than answer, turning his attention inwards, to the rose flush dusting her skin from neck to navel, the lines of her throat and jaw, clenched tight in waiting, the heady scent of her sex. He bent his neck to taste her, teasing the edge of his tongue into her folds. He worked slowly, finding her center only after long moments. There, he was gentle, moreso than she would stand for if it were she controlling her pleasure.

She let out a quiet sound, and he looked up at her, unsurprised to find a hand already on her breast and another reaching down to join him. All at once, her head snapped upright, eyes flaming, for he'd caught her hand in his and refused to let it go.

He pulled away from her with a slick sound, tongue dragging. "I wish you'd let me do this more often," he murmured, catching her eye with his. “Just relax.” 

She glared at him, and he met her gaze evenly. Tiadrin groaned but let herself go lax. 

"You're such an idiot," she said, as she often did. "Don't make me wait three hours."

Lain pressed his nose into her thigh and breathed a playful whuff of air. "Whatever the queen demands," he said.

"The queen demands that you make proper use of your mouth."

"I always do."

He licked into her with firm deliberation, pressing the flat of his tongue against her clit. She sucked in a breath, thigh flexing.

"Fuck," she said, voice coming out on the far side of breathless. "Use your fingers." 

Lain propped himself up with an elbow and leaned forward, dragged his second hand across her thigh until he met slick warmth and eased two fingers inside her. She pulsed around him, so wet there was almost no friction. He released a sharp breath through his nose, forcibly swallowing his arousal, and opened his mouth against her. 

He let go of his previous intent towards patience, unsure if he would have the will to finish her with his cock leaking fluid against his leg, sorely neglected and letting him know it. He hooked his fingers against her front wall and curled up towards her navel. She heaved a heavy breath, calf flexing against his shoulder, and he followed her exhale to the slim line of her torso, half raised off the bed to meet him. 

He licked his lips and dropped his mouth back against her, tongue feeling thick and clumsy in the midst of his arousal. He caught her clit between his teeth, and she swore at him, hips jolting.

"Fuck, yeah," she breathed. "Hurt me."

Lain looked up at her and swallowed hard. She had a hand buried in the hair at the base of her neck, mouth wide and panting. Her eyes were blown broad and dark, and though she looked in his direction, her gaze was blurry and unfocused. 

He was about to ask her what she wanted, but then she was moaning impatiently and pushing his head back between her legs. Immediately pliant, he found a sloppy rhythm to the motion of her hips, fingers pumping on every forward thrust. Eventually he gave up trying to outwit her and let his jaw fall open while she ground against his mouth, leaving her free to do as she pleased.

Tiadrin, as expected, made full use of the privilege given her, flexing her thigh to bring him in closer. His teeth grazed her clit, and she yelped, hand shooting out to bury in the thick scruff on his head. She arched her back, fingers knotting and yanking, and Lain keened into her cunt.

"You like that?" She concluded her statement with a sharp tug, and he moaned, cock jerking. 

"Of course you do. You get off on being my slut." She swiveled her hips against his face, smearing slick across his lips and chin. "Mm, you're hard, aren't you? Let me see you get off. Touch yourself." 

His stomach flew to his throat, hand clenching against her thigh before it slid, unerringly, down across his belly. He spread his legs, bracing himself with a palm on the bed and turned his forehead to rest on her thigh. He cupped himself, hissing through his teeth at the contact, waiting, suspended.

Tiadrin's fingers bumped his cheek, and he pulled away to find her hand knuckles deep in her cunt. She smirked at him, dug her heel into the bed and arched, drawing a beautific line from neck to navel. The tendons of her hand stood out for a second before receding, and his eyes snapped to hers on her muted exhale. 

"Fuck, get up here where I can see you."

He licked his lips, processing her words, then drew her leg off his shoulder and released her onto the coverlet. Standing made apparent the ache in his knees, but he ignored it doggedly with Tiadrin's heavy gaze following him. He knelt between her thighs, the bed groaning a protest at his additional weight, and waited, near panting, for her to speak. 

"Go on, then," she said, and his fingers coiled about himself loosely, breath fluttering once before his grip tightened and he pushed his hips forward to meet his fist. His first experimental thrust tore a whine from his throat, and Tiadrin hummed her appreciation. 

"Yeah, just like that." She gave an angry moan and propped herself up on an elbow to watch. Her fingers emerged from her cunt and moved to her clit. "Fuck, you’re so hot when you let go for me. Spread your legs so I can see better.” 

He braced a hand on the sheets behind him and widened his stance, leaning back on his haunches, hips drawn out in front of him. Tiadrin was watching him skeptically, but when he caught her eye, her expression went fiendish. She tilted her head and shifted on her thighs and moaned low, and he knew she did it on purpose, but fuck it was still hot. He bit his lip and pumped harder, fingers twisting around his cockhead.

"What are you thinking about?" she demanded breathlessly. "You're fucking your hand but I bet you wish it was my cunt. You like coming inside me." She hummed. "I'm so wet I wouldn't even notice."

A spurt of precome traced the long ridge of his underside. "Gods, Tiadrin. D-don't just say things like that."

"Why? I want you to come. I like watching you get off." She flicked her wrist hard, eyes glazing over. "Gods, you're so pretty when you come. It's best when you're messy, and you get it all over yourself. That's fucking sexy." 

She looked up, as if just noticing him, and swore. "Shit, you're close, aren't you?"

His cock was purpling, glans swollen in his grip. He grunted, trying in vain to answer. In the end, he managed a strangled, "Yeah." 

Tiadrin hissed in pleasure. "Yes. Let me see. I'm gonna come so hard."

"A-ahh." He cried out, doubling over, and spilled on her stomach, hips thrusting into his fist, ribs tucked in. 

Tiadrin convulsed and came, cussing as she went. Her fingers went to her chest as if of their own accord, running through the mess he'd made, her face drawn in ecstasy. 

When she came down, she was panting, and she reached for him immediately, pulling him into a filthy kiss. He moaned into her mouth, settling on his back beside her. She softened after a few moments passed, then pulled away, still flushed and breathless. 

"Fuck," she muttered, scrubbed a hand over her face, and repeated herself, vehemently. "Fuck."

Lain took her expression as a roundabout compliment, firstly because he was fairly certain that's what it was, but also just to tease her. "It was good?" 

"No, dumbfuck, I come when I'm stressed." 

He grinned. "Eva-ding," he sing-songed, and she slugged him in the arm.


End file.
